


O Lazarus

by ThisIs479er



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, from dirt we come to dirt we return, lorenzo can burn in hell, mollymauk origin, will update with a post-26 chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-11 19:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15322611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIs479er/pseuds/ThisIs479er
Summary: Mollymauk Tealeaf is born in a snowy clearing, a few days south of Shady Creek Run.





	1. The Rise

**Author's Note:**

> quick warning for accidental misgendering, quickly corrected. happens as molly approaches the circus. spoilers for s2e26 in end notes.

People were not made to remember their births. They should not know the burning of their lungs as they take their first feeble breaths, and the screams that follow. If they are lucky, they will take comfort in the warm embrace of a parent. Most births were not like this one.

Mollymauk remembered it like this: Cold, and damp, and heavy against his chest. His heart hammered as though it had started to beat for the first time. He took a breath. 

He didn’t. He could feel the parts in his body trying to function: His ribs, trying to expand; His mouth working open weakly, fighting for air and being filled with- With something, soft and earthen, and he couldn’t even choke it up.

It took over a minute of clawing blindly through the earth before his knuckles met cold, evening air. By the time he finally uncovered his face, coughing up sediment and shouting into the dark, his head had been spinning. He’d nearly lost the small spark of life he’s only just obtained. 

He opened his eyes, panting and shaking. For a first sight after a terrible traumatic experience, he would consider himself particularly blessed for this to be it. Wherever he was, wherever he’d been buried, it was a beautiful place: An open clearing with a handful of sparse trees, washed with the light of the two moons overhead. In the distance, down a hill and toward the edge of an evergreen forest, were a hundred dots of dancing fires and faerie lights. 

Molly remembered sitting there, in his own shallow grave, for the better part of an hour- Just watching the stars overhead and the lights in the valley below, and the slow hesitant snowfall that started at some point. Even as he took in all this beauty, he’d still felt-

“Empty.” His voice felt croaky and worn as it left his throat. He needed something, something was  _ missing _ . Looking around, there were no belongings- Nothing he could claim as his, not a stitch of clothing on his body- Not that Molly was old enough to understand the concept of shame. Not that Molly  _ cared _ .

It took time for him to come to his feet, cloven hooves sinking into the growing sludge of ice and dirt. His knees shook, his tail swishing to give him some balance. Molly didn’t know what he was, but he knew to take a step forward.

He slipped, like a baby deer on fresh ice. A little too on-the-nose. And then Molly experienced a new sensation: Pain, as he tumbled down the side of the hill- Coming to rest at the mouth of the field, amongst a small cluster of saplings. He sighed, steam rising in his breath as his internal temperature rose to try and keep him warm. 

Goosebumps rose up along his bare arms and lean stomach and he shuddered- He decided that he did not like the cold one bit. And even still, Molly is not sure how he knew this, but he’d known to seek out the lights. Any fire, any warmth. It was amazing, the things one remembered after losing everything else.

So he walked, aimlessly, down into the valley. His ears pricked forward at a noise in the distance- A sharp, sort of smooth wailing that he found to be… Pleasant. He wanted to know what it was, so he stepped up his pace- Confident now on his own feet, he stepped into the light. He only made it a few feet before a crowd, gathered around an enthralling violinist, caught sight of him, all that he was- A naked, dirty, manic looking  _ creature _ .

Molly, being all of an hour old, was unprepared when one of the carnival-goers took up a stone from the ground and threw it as hard as he could. It caught him in the forehead, just beneath the root of one of his horns.

“Oh, alright, folks, easy does it!” shouted a lilting voice, edged with nerves. There was a flash of red and violet and teal, a long coat being pulled around his shoulders. A tall man, with rose-colored cheeks and ashen hair, clapped his hands together- gloves with the fingers worn right through from overuse- and laughed, giving Molly a once-over. “Now, where have you been all night? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“The devil’s one of you circusfolk?” asked the man who threw the rock. He had a big silver crown on the front of his shirt. Crownsguard, Molly would know later.

The nervous man laughed again, “Yes, well, she-”

Molly’s tail whipped sharply against the man’s leg.

“They’re not well,” responded the man. “We keep them with the horses, you know, but there’s no one to watch them during the show. You understand, don’t you, Watchmaster? Family.”

The watchmaster nodded, slow and wary. “You keep that thing on a leash, Gustav. I hear about any missing children, any cannibalizing, you  _ and _ it are going to face the consequences.” The knight waved off the crowd. “Everybody back to your homes! Show’s over!”

Gustav, the kind man who’d given Molly a coat, stayed behind and waved jovially to the onlookers, shouting for them to return at the next show a few cities over. As the last visitor turned their backs to the two of them, the half-elf rounded on Molly, pointing a finger right into his face. “You are a  _ very  _ lucky young person. You from the Run? Somebody after you?”

Molly stared, blankly.

Gustav sighed. “Do you know Common? Can you understand what I’m saying?”

Molly nodded, eagerly. That made Gustav smile, and it seemed nice.

“Good. We’ll start easy, then. You use ‘them’? ‘Him’?” 

Him. Yes, definitely, ‘him’. Another succinct nod.

“Do you have a name?”

“Empty,” Mollymauk supplied. It was all he knew to say.

“So you  _ can _ speak. It’s good to meet you, M.T.,” Gustav peeled off one of his gloves, offering a bare brown hand. “I am Gustav Fletching, co-owner of Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities.”

Molly stared at the offered hand for a long moment before Gustav reached out and shook Molly’s own. A teaching moment. Customs of these strange new folk. Gustav turned, fluidly, a hand coming to Molly’s shoulder while the other came to do up several small pearl buttons on the front of the coat. Gustav walked him along.

“I’m guessing something bad happened, for you to be wandering naked and muddy in the middle of the Dunrock Mountains. Do you remember anything, M.T.? Somebody who might want to hurt you, might track you to us. There’s no judgment-  _ I _ have a few ex-lovers who could be after me,” Gustav laughed. He spoke so fast- Molly didn’t know  _ how  _ he could do that. He continued, “But seeing as you’re stuck with us at least until we clear the superstitious north, there should be minimal secrets between us.”

Gustav smiled and waved again at a passing group of circus-goers, tipping his hat at them before he placed it down on Mollymauk’s shaved head. It sat unevenly on his horns. In a softer voice, Gustav said, “You don’t need to talk if you’re not ready. “

Molly, unable to find the words, let his tail wrap about Gustav’s thin wrist. The man smiled, swinging his wrist forward as they walked. “Alright then. Let’s get you set up for the night, shall we?”

Gustav led Molly to a smaller tent in the interior of the camp, which seemed to be the communal sleeping area. There were already several people mulling about- A small girl and a very large creature resembling a horned toad, a pair of short women bickering about bedroll placement, a woman with her hair on  _ fire _ . Molly was immediately enraptured by these people. He’d never known anything like this, sure, but he got the feeling he’d never known  _ anything _ like  _ this. _

“Ladies and gentlemen, Toyas and Kylres, gather round and address your attention to the illustrious individual at my side,” Gustav shouted into the room.

“Some of us are trying to sleep, you prick!” called one of the other performers. The crowd laughed.

“Presenting, at his debut performance, our newest son and brother in the business,” Gustav continued, paying no mind to his beloved hecklers, “Everyone? Meet M.T.”

“What’s his act?” asked one of the short women- Mona and Yuli, the Knot-Sisters.

“We will have to find that out,” Gustav responded. 

A broad, green-grey skinned gentleman, Bosun the Breaker, hummed. “He looks dextrous. M.T., how do you feel about swords? Juggling, and the like.”

“You don’t need to listen to him, M.T.,” the Sister rolled her eyes. “That tail could really come in handy. Have you thought about trapeze art?”

The burning woman, Ornna, always to disagree  _ somebody _ , scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s an oracle if I’ve ever seen one. Those tattoos. Give him a tarot deck and see what happens.” 

“There will be  _ plenty  _ of time for him to decide,” Gustav said. “For now, he can be our silent hype man. The walking contradiction. And gods’ sakes, don’t crowd the man. He walked into camp naked and covered in dirt, so heaven knows what’s happened.”

Mollymauk shrugged, good-natured. 

“Certainly not him,” Gustav chuckled.

“One quick moment, my dear friend,” interrupted a human man in a quiet voice, a little soft around the middle and entirely bald. Desmond, the other ringleader so to speak, pulled Gustav and Mollymauk aside by their arms. 

“Dads are fighting,” Mona whispered to Toya, who clamped one little hand over her own mouth to hide a laugh. 

Desmond gave them a dry look, before saying, “The more southern we go, the Crownsguard are going to be a  _ lot  _ more suspicious of our friend.”

“I understand your concern for our safety, Des, but we can’t leave him here.” Gustav nudged Molly’s shoulder, making an exaggerated face of sadness towards the human man. Molly, surprisingly adept at mimicking social cues, made the same face- All big red eyes and drooping ears. 

Desmond sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Your bloody compassion. Alright! He can stay. But he’s staying in  _ your  _ bunk.” 

“Where will you be sleeping, then, Desmond?” teased Yuli. The bald human rolled his eyes good-naturedly, pushing her over with the toe of his boot. The large tent seemed to shake with the sound of laughter, and Mollymauk found himself entranced by the sound and the feeling. 

If this was what life with these people would be- Joy and laughter and a feeling of warmth? He wanted this.

Gustav, noticing the soft expression on Molly’s face, smiled in turn and led him closer to the group. “Make yourself comfortable, M.T. Welcome to the family.”


	2. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mollymauk Tealeaf dies in the same field he is born in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Scene. you know the one. an intermission chapter.

It was not until Mollymauk Tealeaf was flat on his back in the early light of a snowy clearing that he realized that he’d been here before. If not for the pain throbbing-  _ Everywhere-  _ He would have laughed. Instead, he could only wheeze through aching ribs and attempt to stave off unconsciousness for a little longer. 

At least long enough for the others to get away, or to turn the tide of the fight, or anything. At his collar, the Periapt of Wound Closure seemed to warm against his skin.

Then, a pressure- Firm against his stomach as the  _ fucker _ , as this  _ Lorenzo  _ levelled one boot down onto Molly’s body. The bastard had the nerve to grin, wiping the blood from his eyes as the curse of the eyeless barely even took hold. That was less than ideal.

There was a flash of movement- Sun, glinting across sweaty sun-browned skin as Lorenzo’s arm jerked forward. Molly choked against hot blood as a glaive, easily as long as his forearm, burrowed down into his chest. After this fight, the wound would look no more out of place than his other cuts and scrapes.

Then Mollymauk remembered, with a sardonic smirk. No healer. Yes, right. That was going to complicate things. 

Atop one of the nearby carts, he saw the green and black figure of Nott flinch, her entire body seeming to press down onto itself. Her ears dropped at once, big yellow eyes becoming nearly black as her pupils expanded.

He barely registered an inarticulate scream as Beau ran forward, swinging her staff forward with all her power- But without even turning, Lorenzo caught it in one comically oversized hand and lifted it off the ground, throwing Beau back. Lorenzo grinned, sharp teeth filed to points in that way humans did to emulate bigger, scarier things. 

_ What are you doing, you brave idiots _ , Mollymauk wanted to say. He was a shepherd’s fainting goat, left for the wolves to let the herd flee ahead. He couldn’t seem to get the words out.

“An example it is,” Lorenzo seemed to decide. As if it were something he’d mulled over. Mollymauk saw no careful decision here- Only a prick playing at being merciful. He’d seen this type before, oh yes. He knelt in close and sized Molly up, breath hot against Molly’s face. “What are your last words?”

_ Oh, fuck you too _ , Molly thought. If he had the pupils, he would have rolled his eyes- He hoped the slow head shake conveyed the emotion. He spat right in Lorenzo’s face, watching the blood hit his skin. The slaver didn’t seem to anticipate that, eyebrows raising as he nodded in some form of mocking approval. He huffed that same damn laugh again.

“Hah. Respect.”

_ Please. You’ve never respected a thing in your life, you cock-faced excuse for a- _

The blade wrenched. A bright spark of life extinguished.


	3. Revenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nonagon returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't mean to write a third chapter but uhhhhhhh! i did! is this a thing i'll continue? who knows!

Two days later, in a shallow grave, in a snowy field south of Shady Creek run, someone else took a breath. A man, unaware that he’d lost two years of time, easily extracted himself from a hole barely two feet deep, kept so shallow as a bid of hope that seemed well-warranted.

The Nonagon, Lucien, shook aside a gaudy tapestry of a white dragon on a blue and gold and green field, letting the wind of the coming blizzard carry it away. And then he noticed that his nails were  _ long _ , he had never grown them out in his life. And perhaps he did a double-take, then, as he saw the image of a serpent coiled around his forearm in ink. Tattoos. Lucien did  _ not  _ have tattoos.

There was a splash of color against the snow, continuing this full-on assault to the senses. Several colors, upon closer inspection: A coat of deep red and just about every other color that existed, embroidered with patterns from every religion and show of mysticism. While beggars could not afford to be choosers, the Nonagon was no beggar. He lifted the coat from the stake it rested upon and let it go, allowing the wind to carry it whichever way it so pleased. Goodbye, ugly coat.

He staggered into an alcove nestled into a nearby hill, clumsy on what seemed to be heeled boots? None of this was making sense. Whichever one of his  _ dear friends _ had this clever idea to dress him like some three-ring circus buffoon would surely regret it. He peeled the boots off the second he was seated, chucking them out into the snow. One of the others would be here for him soon, and he would not allow them to see him in this condition.

A secondary inspection found several pieces of cheap fool’s gold jewelry- Piercings, adorning his horns, his ears, his tail. Lucien decided he would not be merciful to whoever did this. If he did not kill them outright, perhaps they would find a new role in his coterie as his own personal jester.

The thought struck him with a wave of  _ something _ . Sickness, he supposed. He tore the accessories loose without hesitation, the pain a familiar friend. Lucien traced the bored-out hollows of his horns, and felt his rage building to a peak. If someone did not retrieve him soon, he might just thin the ranks and start from scratch. Find some useful fucking help. 

And while the Nonagon did not pout and grovel like a petulant child, there was no one around to see Lucien do it. He slumped up against the stone wall of the alcove, and paused as he heard something  _ crinkle _ at his chest.

Aside from a fresh looking lilac scar over his sternum, there was a neatly folded sheet of parchment, which had been slipped into the front of his tunic. The very thought of someone so callously daring to touch him was enough to send a hiss of Infernal between his teeth. He nearly tore the paper in half while unfolding it, stretching the parchment taut between his hands.

 

_ If you are reading this, you have woken up. _

 

Lucien scoffed. What an astute observation.

 

_ This is in case you do not remember. Your name is Mollymauk Tealeaf. You are a member of the Mighty Nein. There are seven of us: Beauregard, Caleb (myself), Fjord, Jester, yourself, Nott, and Yasha. Three of our friends were taken by a group called the Iron Shepherds, and you were killed in our foolish plan to attempt to rescue them. I do not know if you will return from the dead once more, my friend, but I am keeping my hope. You have taught us to do that. Seek out the Evening Nip tavern in Zadash. Find the Gentleman, and you will find us.  _

_ We have left your coat and your swords. Your personal items are safe with us. Stay safe, Mister Mollymauk. We will see you again soon. _

_ P.S. You’re an asshole and I hate you. If you ever die again, I’ll kill you. -Beau _

_ Post-postscript: She does not mean that.  _

 

Lucien stared at the note in his hands, squinting against the messy handwriting and smudged ink. If his hands shook, no one would know. This was part of a childish prank gone much too far. Some ameteur gang had no clue who they were dealing with. He set his jaw, calling upon his primal rite to spring fire from his fingertips. The note burned away to cinders in seconds.

“If this is to be a  _ game _ ,” he snarled, his own accent feeling alien in his mouth, “Then we shall play.”

Snow be damned. A storm would not stop the Nonagon. He strode out into the chill winds and found a pair of twinned swords dug into his ameteur grave. Carnival glass. Cheap, flimsy material. He drew the blade across his thigh, just barely satisfied by the result. He hooked the swords through his belt-loops.

Lucien turned south on the road toward Zadash. 

**Author's Note:**

> me, starting this story after s2e14 (lost & found): ok canonically lucien was buried south of shady creek run near the tombtaker's hide-out  
> me, editing just now, bitter and soulless after s2e26 (found & lost): mollymauk dies in the same fucking field he's born in


End file.
